Page 7 of Teacher of the Year

Marvin: OMG was I horrible?

Kristi: No, I mean because we were all gobsmacked. ??

Jill: That man can butter my biscuit any time.

Marvin: You’re married.

Jill: Hey, looking is free!

Our first day back unfolds better than anticipated. Partly because I’d known my one coffee at home wouldn’t suffice, and stopped for an extra cup. But also, the kids, with some reminders, remember so much. They all seem a little older, a little taller, a little more mature. A few children step up to help Illona navigate her new surroundings. In particular, Cynthia (please don’t call her Cindy, thank you very much), a quiet little girl with dark brown hair that’s always in elaborate braids I’m sure require enormous amounts of time and effort to achieve, takes Illona under her wing. They hold hands most of the day, and beyond the sweetness factor, Cynthia seems thrilled to have someone to show the ropes to.

At one point, I glance at the library area, and the girls are lying on the carpet readingThe Very Hungry Caterpillar. We’ve read this story many times as a class. It’s dear to my heart, and seeing Cynthia read every word to Illona with such verve fills me with joy. I check in with Illona numerous times, and by the time our mid-morning snack rolls around, it almost feels like she’s been in our class all along.

“Teacher! Can you help open my fruit snacks?” It might take her a day or two to get my name down.

“I’m Mr. Block,” I say in the kindest tone possible.

“Oh, sorry! Mr. Block, can you help me with my fruit snacks… please?”

“Of course I can. I’m going to show you how to open them yourself, so you won’t need help from anyone. How’s that sound?”

Her face scrunches up, and she gives me a sure-teacher-I-just-met look.

“Watch me.” I take the package from her tiny hands. “To open most snacks, you can use the pinch and pull method. You pinch each side of the package.” I demonstrate up close. “Pull as hard as you can.” I begin to pull but stop just short of the packet ripping open. “Now you try it.” I hand it back to her and begin voicing over the instructions as she tries it.

“Pinch.”

She pinches.

“Now, pull.”

Nothing happens.

“Pull harder, as hard as you can.”

She takes a deep breath, gives it all she’s got, and as if by magic, it pops open. Illona’s eyes light up as if I’ve just shown her one of the great secrets of the universe.

“Want one?” She offers me a yellow fruit snack.

“Sure, thank you!” I pop it in my mouth as she watches me. “Oh, banana, not my favorite,” I say with a rumpled face.

She lets out a genuine laugh, and hearing her giggle from her core, for the first time, only a couple of hours into our first day together, I’m reminded of the complete joy of kindergarteners. She has her father’s smile, and it illuminates the room. Soon the other children join in, creating a chorus of laughter.

“Mr. Block isn’t a banana fan, but I am!” Ricky shouts, making his banana into a phone and eliciting more chuckles from the room. It’s my goal to model at least an openness to trying new foods and not proclaiming hate for any food in front of my students, but bananas are the one food I can’t stomach. Something about the smell makes me nauseous; if I get too close to one, my gag reflex kicks in. I had taken the risk, eating the fruit snack for Illona, hoping it was lemon or pineapple, but also knowing I could stomach artificial banana flavor much easier than real ones.

In the afternoon, Illona joins Cynthia and a few others at the crafting table during Choice Time. Today, they’ve landed on cutting scrap construction paper and creating collages. Glancing over, I notice Illona struggling.

“Can you pass me the scissors?” I ask.

She glances at me curiously.

“The scissors. I want to help you.”

Illona twists the tiny scissors in her hand, her chubby fingers wrap around the closed blade, and the handle faces out.

“Now, watch me. The key is to move the paper, not your scissors,” I begin.

I wrangle my adult fingers into the child-sized scissors and slowly start cutting into the paper. As I cut, I move the paper, keeping my hand stationary to create a circle.

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